


A Scandal in Buffalo

by i_owe_you_a_bourbon



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, M/M, Sherlock Holmes AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2015-07-11
Packaged: 2018-04-08 21:19:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4321152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_owe_you_a_bourbon/pseuds/i_owe_you_a_bourbon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It so happens that a few years back I… made the acquaintance of a young gentleman. Man by the name of Jack Thompson. During our time together, he got his hands on some… uh… rather compromising photographs of the two of us.”</p>
<p>Peggy nodded slowly. “Which you would rather not get out, especially seeing as you are now such an important man.”</p>
<p>“Exactly.” The mayor leaned back in his chair, eying Peggy dubiously. “Now I’ve traced Jack’s whereabouts to here in London. The pictures are no doubt with him. I was hoping someone might recover them for me. Think you can manage that?”</p>
<p>A slow smile crossed Peggy’s face. “My dear Mr. Mayor, I’ll see what I can do.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Scandal in Buffalo

**Author's Note:**

> Sir Arthur Conan Doyle did most of the legwork on this one – I just happily bastardized his work :) A few lines are taken directly from A Scandal in Bohemia so… *fist-bumps Doyle’s skeletal fist* thanks, bro.

_One night – it was on the twentieth of March, 1888 – I happened to find myself strolling down Baker Street, past the familiar house belonging to my dear friend, Miss Peggy Carter. It has been my honour to observe and chronicle the keen mind of Miss Carter through many adventures and dark happenings that would never have been brought to light if not for her extraordinary insights, but of late I had not found much time to visit her, as my employer had kept me very busy. I decided it was high time to call upon her._

_I found her in her quarters, a letter in her hand and a furrow in her brow. “Mr. Jarvis,” she exclaimed upon my entrance. “How good it is to see you!”_

_“And you, Miss Carter,” I replied. “I happened to be in the neighbourhood and I thought I might drop by and see if you may be in need of assistance.”_

_“I am always happy to have your assistance,” she said, with her smile that could put angels to shame. “And, as a matter of fact, I happen to have received an intriguing case just this morning.” She waved the letter at me. “What does this letter tell you?”_

_I took the letter from her hand. “Good quality paper, with distressingly American spelling. It seems it is a desperate cry for help from a well-to-do American.”_

_“Precisely my conclusion. From Buffalo, New York, if I’m not mistaken.”_

_“Why, how can you tell that?” I asked._

_“Simple, really.” She lit her pipe and gave it a few puffs before putting me out of my ignorant misery. “The letterhead.”_

_“Ah, of course.” I examined the letter. “He’s not very specific about his cause of distress. Whatever do you think this fellow wants?”_

_“I haven’t the faintest clue,” said Miss Carter. “I prefer to have some evidence on hand before drawing conclusions. But he’ll be along soon enough. I expect he’ll tell us.”_

_“Quite right.” I settled myself in an armchair to wait, glancing around her rooms as I did so. My eyes happened to fall upon her dirty linens, crumpled up in a wrinkled heap in the corner, and I felt a surge of distress. Miss Fry had clearly not been doing as good a job as I would have done in her place. There was nothing neat about these linens, and –_

 

“Mr. Jarvis, are you writing one of those ridiculous stories of yours?” 

Jarvis started guiltily and looked up to find Peggy gazing down at him, one eyebrow raised. “Why yes,” he replied, quite unable to come up with anything but the truth when put on the spot like this. “I am.”

“We don’t even know how the story ends yet. Or what it is for that matter.”

“I suppose not. But I would hate to forget any important details.”

“I hope those important details don’t include remarking upon the state of my linens.” Jarvis’s guilty silence was the only answer she needed. With a sigh and a shake of her head, she wandered over the window to peer out. “Ah!” she exclaimed. “Here is our visitor now. Miss Fry is just showing him up.” She shot Jarvis a look. “Unless you would rather continue your study of my linens.”

“No, no, I believe greeting our visitor takes precedence,” Jarvis conceded, tucking his notepad away and rising from his seat to stand beside Peggy.

“A wise choice, Mr. Jarvis.”

The pair of them waited, watching the door expectantly, until Miss Fry finally entered the room, followed by a strangely attired gentleman. He was dressed very well, in a suit that even to Jarvis’s eye seemed rich, but his face was adorned by a simple black mask that covered his eyes and part of his nose. “I tried to keep him out, Miss Carter,” said Miss Fry disapprovingly. “He was very persistent.”

“Miss Fry, you must stop trying to keep gentlemen from my apartments; over half my clientele is male.”

“And it is something that keeps me up at night,” Miss Fry informed her primly.

“You are an excellent watch dog, I assure you that between the two of us we shall keep me from any impropriety,” Peggy replied, her impatience clear in her tone. 

“I certainly hope so.” Miss Fry shot the two men in Peggy’s rooms one last look and departed in a huff. 

“I must apologize for the welcome,” Peggy told her guest. “Miss Fry is… quite something.”

“Old bat’s gotta point,” the man replied, his accent distinctly American. “Young lady like yourself oughta be more careful who she lets in her rooms.”

Peggy arched an eyebrow. “A threat, or general advice?”

The man held his hands up placatingly. “General advice.” He pointed at the armchair Jarvis had previously occupied. “Mind if I sit?”

“Please,” said Peggy. She waited for him to seat himself, then settled in the chair across from him. Jarvis stood attentively at her side. 

“I’m only here as a last resort,” said the masked man. “I heard you were good, and after talking to that idiot down at Scotland Yard, I figured you couldn’t be worse.” 

“Krzeminski?” Peggy asked.

“That’s the one.”

“You made the right call.” Peggy reclined in her chair, raising her pipe to her lips. “And how might I help you today?”

“From what I hear, you’re a woman who does her business with discretion. That’s what I’m looking for. I’ve got something of a… delicate situation on my hands.” 

“I surmised that much from your letter. I was hoping for some more details.”

“Alright, alright. I’m here to get your help stopping a scandal. A big one. One that directly affects the current mayor of Buffalo, New York.”

“Yes, I had rather assumed that as well, Mr. Mayor,” said Peggy. 

The man blinked at her in astonishment. “How in the hell could you know that?” he demanded, pulling the mask off his face.

Peggy waved one hand dismissively. “There are any number of ways I could have sorted that out – your shoes, your manner of speaking, the way you tie your tie – but in this case it’s a simple matter of having seen your picture. That mask really hides nothing. I hardly needed to glance at you to know I was speaking with Mayor Roger Dooley of Buffalo.”

Mayor Dooley looked down at the mask. “Fair point,” he admitted.

“Now tell me, Mr. Mayor, what is this scandalous, sensitive situation you find yourself embroiled in? It really would help if you were a little more forthcoming.”

Her visitor sighed and ran a hand over his face. “Fine.” He took a bracing breath. “It so happens that a few years back I… made the acquaintance of a young gentleman. Man by the name of Jack Thompson. During our time together, he got his hands on some… uh… rather compromising photographs of the two of us.” 

Peggy nodded slowly. “Which you would rather not get out, especially seeing as you are now such an important man.”

“Exactly.” The mayor leaned back in his chair, eying Peggy dubiously. “Now I’ve traced Jack’s whereabouts to here in London. The pictures are no doubt with him. I was hoping someone might recover them for me. Think you can manage that?”

A slow smile crossed Peggy’s face. “My dear Mr. Mayor, I’ll see what I can do.”

~

It was midday when Peggy found herself down in the corner of town that her investigations had pointed her too. Finding her quarry hadn’t been much of a problem – it seemed he’d made quite an impression on some of the young ladies of the neighbourhood, and they were perfectly happy to point Peggy in the right direction.

As she strolled along in the direction of his place of residence, she caught sight of herself in a shop window and almost had to laugh. She was quite the ridiculous thing, with her red wig caught up under the most garish bonnet she had ever laid eyes on and her face slathered with such thick layers of makeup she could barely recognize herself.

It was in this get-up that she found herself lurking in an alley across the street from the house that was reportedly the current home of one Jack Thompson. It was a plain house, certainly not something that would catch anyone’s eye, unless, perhaps, they were specifically sent by the occupant’s former lover. Peggy imagined the man liked it that way. Nobody had been able to tell her much about Jack Thompson, other than that he was very attractive and he mostly kept to himself. She supposed it was up to her to determine the rest. Settling herself on the pavement, she propped herself up against the alley wall, rested her gin bottle in her lap, and prepared herself for a long wait.

And a very long wait it was. The day wore on and the shadows grew, and Peggy had to forcefully dissuade a number of men who were intent on taking her home at a very cheap price, and still there was no sign of life in the house across the street. It was only after the sun had been swallowed up by night that there were finally stirrings in Jack Thompson’s abode. Some lights came on inside the house, the curtains stirred a few times as though somebody was looking out, and there were faint flutters of shadows moving behind the curtains. At long last, shortly after the clock had struck midnight, the door opened and the man that Peggy had thus far only seen in photographs emerged.

It was around this time that Peggy noticed she was no longer alone in the alley. A man stood several metres away, leaning rather heavily on a cane, with the air of somebody who was waiting every bit as intently as Peggy herself. Peggy kept her focus on the bottle in her lap, careful to keep her eyes from glancing directly at either man.

Jack Thompson stood on his doorstep for a moment, looking around. When he’d determined there was no one lying in wait, he hastily crossed the street and ventured into the alley, glancing only briefly at Peggy as he passed her. The man in the alley moved forward to meet him. “Daniel,” Jack said, and he caught the man up in his arms, burying his face into his shoulder.

“Jack,” the man – Daniel – replied, returning the embrace with equal fervor. They remained like that for a moment, until Daniel pulled back slightly and nodded his head in Peggy’s direction. “What about her?” he murmured softly. 

Jack glanced back at her. “Just some drunken dollymop,” he said. “Probably couldn’t tell you the time of day. You there,” he called. “What’re you doing?”

Peggy glanced vaguely in their direction. “Waiting, sir,” she slurred.

“For what?” 

“Clientele.” She gave him a lewd grin, showing off every inch of the teeth she had spent a great deal of time carefully yellowing.

Jack raised his eyebrows at Daniel, who nodded. “Carry on, then,” Daniel informed her, and Peggy turned her eyes back to her bottle, taking a pointed swig of the regrettably non-alcoholic fluid within. She pretended not to notice when Daniel grabbed Jack and pulled him into a kiss. 

She continued to pretend not to notice for several long minutes, until the two men at last broke apart. Jack pressed his forehead against the other man’s. “I want to marry you, Daniel,” he murmured. 

“I don’t see that happening any time soon,” Daniel sighed, wrapping his arms around Jack a little more tightly. 

“Yeah, me neither. But a man can dream.” 

Daniel pulled back suddenly and looked at him. “Let’s do it,” he said.

Jack snorted. “Pretty sure we just ruled that out.”

“No, I mean it, Jack. It might not be legal, but that doesn’t mean it won’t be true in the eyes of God. We can do it right now. Right here.”

“You’re such a goddamn romantic,” Jack muttered. But then he nodded. “Fine. You’re right. Let’s do it.” He turned around to face Peggy. “You,” he called. Peggy glanced up at him and he motioned for her to come. Lurching to her feet, she staggered down the alley to stand in front of them, grinning vacantly. “You’re gonna marry us,” Jack informed her.

“Both of you?” Peggy asked, blinking at him stupidly.

“You’re going to officiate,” Daniel clarified. “We’re wedding each other.”

“Oh.” Peggy nodded and grinned brightly again. “Alright then, my good sirs.” She stumbled to the side, and Jack reached out and caught her before she could topple over. 

“Are you sure she’s the best choice for this?” Daniel muttered.

“Oh, she’ll be fine,” Jack assured him, continuing to hold Peggy up by her shoulders. He looked her up and down a little dubiously. “You ever been to a wedding before?”

Peggy nodded vigorously. “My cousin Abigail was married just this fall, sir,” she said.

“See? She’ll be fine.” Jack gave her a nod. “Go on, then.”

Peggy cleared her throat. “Dearly beloved,” she announced grandly. “We are gathered here today…”

~

Jarvis looked up as Peggy came through the door. “Ah, Miss Carter,” he said. “There you are.” He glanced at the clock. “I was beginning to worry.”

Peggy flopped into the chair by the fire. “No need for concern, Mr. Jarvis,” she assured him, grinning in delight. “I just officiated my very first wedding.”

“I wasn’t aware you had the qualifications.”

“Oh, not in the slightest, but they hardly had the qualifications to wed, so I believe we suited nicely. Jack Thompson was marrying his new lover, a young man by the name of Daniel Sousa, who seemed very dear.”

“Ah,” said Jarvis, turning his attention back to Peggy’s linens, which he was busy ironing. He’d spent the time she was out washing and tidying the place up. He was rather satisfied with the results – or he would be, once the linens were in proper order. “And was it a nice wedding?”

“It was performed before a congregation of rats and spiders, and officiated – to the best of their knowledge – by a drunken prostitute.” Peggy sighed happily. “I would say it was quite nice, yes. The two were clearly smitten.”

“That sounds lovely,” Jarvis agreed. “I do wish you’d invited me along. I love a good wedding.”

“I didn’t come anywhere close to getting the pictures, unfortunately,” said Peggy, pulling off her shoes and stretching out her feet to warm her toes by the fire. “But I have a plan for that. We shall enact it tomorrow, and for that I shall require your assistance, Mr. Jarvis, so long as you are willing to follow me into rather illegal ventures.”

“I would follow you anywhere, Miss Carter,” Jarvis replied. He glanced up at her and shuddered slightly. “Though I do wish you would wash up. I’m afraid it’s not your most flattering look.”

Peggy flashed her yellowed teeth at him. “I think I look rather fetching,” she informed him.

“Well, I suppose you can’t always be right.” He moved to the fire to set the iron back on its trivet and went to fetch the wash basin and a cloth. When he returned, Peggy’s wig lay discarded upon the floor and she was scrubbing absently at her teeth with one sleeve. Jarvis held out the basin to her. “I believe this may be of use to you.” 

She smiled at him and accepted his offering. “Thank you, Mr. Jarvis.” As he went to retrieve the iron, she set about washing off her – rather too effective, in Jarvis’s humble opinion – disguise. When he looked up at her next, it was the familiar face of Peggy Carter that he found watching him. “This is quite domestic,” she remarked, idly wiping at a remaining bit of rouge that lingered on her cheek. 

“I am a creature of domesticity, Miss Carter.”

“Yes, I suppose you are.” Peggy placed the basin down and stretched wearily. “I’m afraid I must interrupt your domestic ways. It is high time that I turn in for the night. I’ve had a most exhausting day of doing absolutely nothing, and we have quite the day ahead of us tomorrow as well.”

Jarvis looked down at the unfinished ironing and sighed. “Yes. Of course. You are quite right.” He went to set the iron down, then turned back to Peggy and gave an awkward little bow. “Goodnight, then. I’ll call again tomorrow.”

“I look forward to it, Mr. Jarvis,” said Peggy, smiling at him warmly. “Perhaps you can finish with my linens.”

“It would bring me the utmost pleasure.”

Peggy shook her head fondly. “I have no doubt in my mind, my good man.” She waved her hand at him. “Go, you. Get some sleep. We have laws to break in the morning.”

Jarvis inclined his head. “Goodnight, Miss Carter.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Jarvis.” 

Jarvis shot the linens one last, regretful look before he left. As he closed the door, he cast a final glance at Peggy, who sat staring into the fire with a thoughtful expression, the firelight playing across her face transforming her into some otherworldly creature. If Jarvis was being completely honest with himself, it was not the linens he most regretted leaving behind.

~ 

It was in a rather different guise that Peggy next found herself outside of Jack Thompson’s abode. She was blonde this time, and just as sweet as could be, with rosy cheeks and impressive lashes. Her companion, on the other hand, who lurked in the same alley she’d waited in just yesterday, was a very rough looking fellow. His hair was messy, his face was dirty, his clothes were in tatters, and his upper lip sported an impressive moustache that had been inspired by his employer. It had taken some convincing to get Mr. Jarvis to don such attire, but Peggy could be very persuasive.

As she meandered up in front of the house, the moustached man came rushing out of the alley and seized her, and Peggy let out what was probably the loudest shriek she had ever made in all her life. They grappled for a moment, Peggy continuing to scream bloody murder and Jarvis letting out a quiet stream of apologies for his rude behaviour, until Jack Thompson at last opened his door. “Hey!” he called. “Let her go!” He rushed down the steps, and Jarvis bolted away back into the alley. “You alright?” Jack asked, approaching Peggy.

She placed a hand to her forehead and swooned. “I fear I have the vapours,” she gasped. And with that, she collapsed into Jack’s arms.

He spent some time shaking her and patting her face, trying to rouse her, but Peggy kept her eyes stubbornly closed. Finally, Jack gave up hope of getting rid of her that easily and carried her into his house. Only once she’d been firmly rested on his couch for several minutes did Peggy stir and open her eyes with a flutter of lashes. “Oh,” she said. “Where am I?”

“On my sofa,” Jack informed her, passing her a glass of water. “You fainted.”

“Is that frightful man gone?” Peggy asked, clutching her hand to her chest. 

Jack nodded. “Coward took off running soon as he saw me.” 

“What a relief! How lucky I am you were there!” Peggy took a sip of her water. “Could we get some air in here?” she asked, fanning her face with one hand. “I still feel so very light-headed.” 

“Of course.” Jack stood up and crossed the room to the window, pulling the curtains aside so he could open it. It was the signal Jarvis would be waiting for, and Peggy readied herself. “That any better?” Jack asked, turning back to her.

Peggy nodded. “Much,” she said. She drained her glass of water and held it out to him. “Might I have some more?” she asked. Jack moved away from the window to come and take the glass from her. As he headed into the next room with it, Peggy saw Jarvis hurry up to the window, draw the smoke-rocket from his coat, and launch it through the window. As soon as the smoke began to fill the room, Peggy let out yet another blood-curdling shriek. Jack came running back in, and Peggy pointed at the smoke with a desperate cry. “I think there’s a fire!” she said.

“Fire!” Jarvis cried from the street. “There’s a fire!”

Peggy watched from the corner of her eye as Jack rushed across the room, angling for the fireplace. Reaching up for a spot above the mantel, he slid back a panel and reached inside to retrieve something, and Peggy caught a glimpse of things she wished she could scrub from her memory. She took this moment to let out a startled “Oh!” Jack turned back to look at her, and she pointed to where the smoke-rocket lay on the floor. “I do believe it’s a false alarm,” she said.

Jack quickly shoved the photographs back into their hiding spot and slid the panel shut again. He crossed the room to examine the smoke-rocket. “Why in God’s name would someone do that?” he asked.

“Probably that foul man who grabbed me,” said Peggy. “Seeking revenge upon your heroic, benevolent soul.”

“Probably,” Jack muttered. He glanced out the window, somewhat nervously.

“Will you go and see if he’s about?” Peggy whimpered, clutching her chest again. “I would hate to think he’s out there just waiting for me.”

Jack looked over at her, and for a moment she thought she saw suspicion in his eyes. But then he nodded. “Of course,” he said. He strode out of the room, shooting an odd look back at her before he disappeared into the hallway. 

Peggy hopped to her feet and moved towards the fireplace, but before she could get anywhere near it, a coachman appeared in the doorway. “You feeling better, miss?” he asked. “The master sent me to check on you.” 

Peggy nodded. “I am,” she said. “Much better, actually. And I’ve just remembered that I promised my dear sister that I’d call upon her today. Please give your master my thanks and my deepest apologies for my hasty departure.” And with a little curtsey, she left the house, darting quickly down the street.

Jarvis was waiting for her just around the corner, his moustache gone, his face clean, and his hair and clothes very much in order. “Miss Carter,” he greeted her.

“Mr. Jarvis,” she replied.

“Did you acquire the photographs?”

Peggy shook her head. “I didn’t quite manage it, but I know where they are.”

“And however did you manage to discover that?”

“Quite simple, really,” said Peggy. “He told me. Human nature dictates that in a time of crisis one will rush to protect that which is most important to him or her – in this case, the photographs. As soon as he thought there was a fire, he went straight to the hidey-hole he’s been keeping them in. I even caught a glimpse of them as he pulled them out. I must say, the mayor was quite right to be distressed. They really are _very_ compromising.”

“Well then, it’s very good he thought to hire you to get them back. There really is no one else like you, Miss Carter.”

Peggy smiled at him. “Nor you, Mr. Jarvis.” 

He offered her his arm. “Shall we?”

“We shall,” she said, linking her arm in his. The two of them strolled off down the road, back towards Baker Street.

As they reached the door and Peggy went to unlock it, a voice spoke from behind them. “Goodnight, Miss Peggy Carter,” it said.

Peggy and Jarvis turned around. There were several people about, but the owner of the voice seemed to be a slender young lady who was hurrying off down the road. “I’ve heard that voice before,” said Peggy, staring after the woman. “Now, I wonder who the deuce that could have been.” 

~

The mayor rushed into Peggy’s rooms first thing the next morning. “You got the photos?” he demanded.

“Not quite,” said Peggy. “But the situation is such that they might be easily acquired. I have discovered their whereabouts.”

The mayor clapped his hands together. “Excellent work, Miss Carter. Excellent. Come on then, no time to waste. Let’s go get ‘em.”

And so Peggy found herself, once again, outside Jack Thompson’s house, this time looking quite herself and knocking directly on his door. It was not Jack Thompson who opened it. Rather, it was a somewhat elderly woman. “Miss Carter?” she asked. 

Peggy blinked. “That’s right,” she said.

“My master said you might be around. You’ve missed him, I’m afraid. He’s left the country and I don’t think he’ll be returning.” 

“Damn!” the American mayor swore. “Then he’s taken the photographs with him. This whole merry chase has been for nothing.”

“I suppose we shall see,” said Peggy. She sidled past the servant and into the house, going straight to the hidden compartment above the mantel. The photographs were, indeed, gone. In their place was a letter, which Peggy opened at once. 

_“My Dear Miss Peggy Carter,”_ it began. _“You’re a damn convincing actress. You just about had me fooled. I was warned about you. If the mayor hired anyone, they said it would be you. And even with all that, you almost got me. It wasn’t until I realized I’d just shown you exactly what the Peggy Carter I’d been warned about would want to know that it even crossed my mind._

_“I had to be sure, of course, so I slid on some of my maid’s old clothes and followed you and your companion back to your door. Once I’d discovered my suspicions were correct, I – rather imprudently – wished you a goodnight and went to find Daniel._ _We figured it was best to run, when pursued by so formidable an antagonist._

_“As to the photographs, your client may rest in peace. I love and am loved by a better man than he. I keep them only to protect myself and my husband (as you should well know he is) against that bastard of a mayor. I leave instead a photograph that he might want to have. I remain, dear Miss Peggy Carter,_

_“Very truly yours,  
_

_“Jack Sousa, née Thompson.”_

Tucked into the envelope under the letter was a photograph of Jack Thompson. The mayor stared down at it. “Damn,” he said again. Then he let out a sigh. “I guess I’ve got no choice but to just take his word for it,” he grumbled. He turned to Peggy. “And you did do your job. How much money do you think is adequate for such a service?”

“Mr. Mayor, you have something I would value much more highly than money.”

“Name your price.”

Peggy smiled at him and held up the photograph that Jack had left behind. “Just this,” she said.

The mayor stared at her, then shrugged. “If that’s what you want,” he said. 

Peggy inclined her head. “Thank you,” she said. With that, she turned on her heel, ignoring the hand that the mayor offered her, and strode out of the house and back towards Baker Street, Jarvis following at her heels.

~

It wasn’t until that evening, when Jarvis was finishing his busy work of tidying Peggy’s rooms, and she stood staring out the window into the gathering dark, that she remarked upon the situation. “You know, Mr. Jarvis, I rather suspected he was onto me,” she said. “I rather hoped it, too.”

Jarvis glanced up at her. “Really, Miss Carter? Whyever would you wish that?”

She turned to him, a smile on her face. “Because he and his husband – as I will continue to call the man – deserved their freedom more than the mayor of Buffalo deserved his peace of mind. They wished no harm upon anyone. All they wanted was to live and love in peace, which – by my estimation – is an admirable goal.” 

Jarvis smiled at her words. “Then I cannot help but share in your relief that they managed it,” he said. He continued his cleaning for a moment, then looked up at her again, a slight furrow in his brow. “Miss Carter, you would not have _let_ them get away, would you?” he asked. “I mean to say, you would not have _known_ that he was onto you and left him the time to flee anyway?”

Peggy gave him an affronted look. “Why, Mr. Jarvis,” she said, “I never.”

It was with a very fond smile that Jarvis returned to his work. There really was no one in the world quite like Peggy Carter, and it was in that moment that Jarvis knew with absolute certainty that he would break any law for her – do anything, really, just so that he might remain at her side, where he always had, and always would, belong.


End file.
